


Breakaway

by StarMaple



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Athletes, Blood and Injury, Cycling, Domestique!Finn, Flirting, M/M, Sprinter!Poe, Vuelta a Espana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaple/pseuds/StarMaple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professional cyclist Poe Dameron sees a good opportunity to get a stage win at the Vuelta a Espana and rushes to take it. First Order domestique 87 is sent after him to make sure that doesn't happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakaway

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Stitchy and Leftwinglibrarian for the beta!
> 
> I've been watching the Tour de France for about a decade and have been fascinated by the complex strategy, interesting team dynamics, culture, traditions, and, of course, spectacular crashes of professional cycling. Every fandom I have been in since discovering Le Tour I have always wanted to write a massive TdF AU for, and I never do because it would be so long (twenty one stages!) and so obscure (anybody else here watch?). I still haven't, actually-- instead of an epic TdF story, this is a short prequel (to a story I never intend to write) which takes place at the Vuelta a Espana in order to quell my desire to describe, in mind numbing detail, three straight weeks of crazy dudes riding all over France.
> 
> Cycling has it's own particular vocabulary and I've included many very strange words and concepts in this story. I will provide a translation in hovertext in the story and, for those of you on mobile, a glossary in the end notes. Please let me know if there's a term or concept I haven't hovertexted or explained within the text and need to explain and I'm happy to add it.

Resistance Cycling is not anywhere close to being the best squad on the road. They’re underfunded, underequipped, and they haven’t had a true GC man since the ‘80s when Luke Skywalker was in his prime. They haven’t had even a shot at winning a tour ( _any_ tour, not even the Tour of California) in decades. Their only shot to put some money in the coffers and get the cameras on them (thus keeping their sponsors happy) is the occasional stage win and Poe throwing himself at the sprint contests. 

Poe loves a good sprint. There’s nothing like a head to head dogfight, but he knows there’s a reason he’s called the greatest sprinter to never win a green jersey. Resistance just doesn’t have the resources. Snap, his lead-out man, is a great guy and can bulldoze a path for him better than anyone, but he’s not built like a sprinter and he doesn’t have the speed or endurance to really deliver Poe to the finish line. Every stage and sprint point Poe has won, in his whole career, he’s tagged onto someone else’s lead out train and ducked out to snatch the win from behind at the line. He’d managed that three stages ago, here on the Vuelta, locked onto Hux’s wheel on the First Order Racing lead-out train. That had been a great win. A couple thousand extra Euros in the team kitty, sponsors happy, and Hux turning so bright red in the face that Poe had thought he was going to rupture something as he screamed at his domestiques in three languages. 

Poe chuckles to himself at the memory and let his good mood fuel his legs for a few pedal turns, as he glances at the tiny map taped to his handlebars. It's a good stage for him, long and flat through the Spanish countryside, and according to the weather report, there’s a firm wind rolling in off the water. The kind of wind that can break the peloton into much smaller packs and open up some significant time gaps. He drums his fingers on his handlebars thoughtfully and then reaches up to his chest to trigger the microphone. 

“Anybody got any objections if I win this stage right now?” he asks, returning his hand to the handlebar and casually making his way to the front of the peloton. It’s more than half bluster-- he’s thinking about a breakaway and that’s always a huge risk. Sometimes it pays off, but usually it just means you exhausted yourself for nothing. 

“What are you thinking, Poe?” Leia asks, sounding cautious. She’d inherited the directeur sportif position from her brother, Luke Skywalker, who’d worked the position himself after his retirement from cycling in 1983. Leia was a management genius in her own right, and the two had worked together as a cohesive unit for over 20 years running the team, but Luke had dropped off the radar ten years ago. 

Resistance Cycling was a proudly clean team and always had been, taking all sorts of extra anti-doping precautions, but someone had dragged Luke’s good name during the Spanish blood doping scandal in 2006, and instead of defending himself (Poe would have bet everything he owned that Luke had been clean for every one of his grand tour wins from ‘77 to ‘83) he’d just… disappeared. Poe didn’t think even Leia knew where he was hiding out. The team hadn’t quite been the same since. 

“I’m thinking that I feel good, there’s an intermediate sprint point so I’ve got two places to pick up points, we’ve got a crosswind coming up which will break up the pack so they can’t follow me, and,” he glances over his shoulder at Hux and the First Order’s GC rider Ren screaming at some poor domestique who’d brought up the wrong water bottles or gel packs from the team car, “I think I can get clear before the FO even notices I’m gone.” 

Poe hears Leia huff a sigh, but it’s one that tells him what he wants to hear. He shifts the gears on his bike in preparation and stands up on the pedals, pulling off the front of the pack before the words even leave her lips. “Just be careful, Poe.” 

He chuckles. “When am I not?” He can hear Leia snort in response. 

His timing is just about perfect. The road turns a corner and comes up on the ocean just as he puts about 50 meters between himself and the rest of the pack, putting him out of sight for a moment. There’s a firm wind on his cheek, rushing inland, and he knows the peloton is going to be worried a lot more about staying together in the wind than they are chasing down someone with no red jersey aspiration. The only ones interested in keeping him close will be the First Order because Hux is currently in the green jersey and if Poe is first across the line at the sprint point and the finish, Poe will be the one in green tomorrow morning. 

The camera motorcycle is keeping pace with him on the breakaway, and he flashes a grin and a wink despite the effort he’s throwing into keeping his pace up. It keeps the camera on him, which keeps the sponsor logos on his skin suit on TV, which makes the sponsors happy, which keeps the sponsor checks coming in. At 15 million euros their operating budget is one of the smallest, but it’s still an astronomical amount. 

“Oh my God,” Snap suddenly howls into his radio, breathless in laughter. “First Order just figured out you were off the front, Poe. Hux almost fell off his bike he was so mad. He nearly knocked Ren over! They just sent some rookie after you up the road and he’s still got water bottles down the back of his shirt!” 

“That’s nice of him, I could use a drink,” Poe pants back into the radio, still dancing on the pedals to open up his lead. 

“Less chatter, more pedaling, Poe,” Leia breaks in on the channel. “I don’t want to hear any smart remarks from you until you’ve got at least a two minute gap.” 

Poe obeys, just using his mouth to take in oxygen as he starts to work out the tour math in his head. If Poe is ahead at the sprint point and the end, he gets 29 points. If this First Order kid slips ahead of him, he only gets 22, not to mention he loses out on the money for winning the stage, winning the sprint point, and probably also loses out on the most combative rider for the day. He’s just gonna have to do his best to make sure that doesn’t happen. Honestly, though, if this kid is dumb enough to carry extra weight on a chase, Poe probably doesn’t have much to worry about. He might not even make it to Poe’s back wheel. Poe’s certainly not gonna make it easy on him, keeping his pedals turning on a big gear and keeping his pace as high as he can without wrecking himself. He keeps his eye on the digital readout that reports back on the wattage of his energy output to help keep himself at a good pace. 

He’s incredibly surprised, therefore, when he’s suddenly not alone on the road. The wind coming off the ocean means his slipstream is off to his right, so his new First Order friend is in his peripheral vision when he comes up on his wheel to draft. He glances back to size him up before returning his eyes to the road, but a moment later what he saw registers and he has to take another look, suddenly even more impressed. Sure enough, he’s still carrying extra weight in the waterbottles stuffed down the back of his jersey for transport, but he’s also riding a bike that is adjusted completely wrong for his compact frame. The First Order has the best equipment money can buy, and the best mechanics, so seeing one of their racers on absolutely the wrong bike is jarring. He wonders what this kid could do if his pedals were in the right place. 

He doesn’t think he’s got it in him to try to pull away at this point, so they might as well help each other put some distance between themselves and the main pack, and maybe Leia can help him find good place to lose this kid further up the road. “ _Hola_ ,” he calls back, figuring Spanish is a good place to start since they’re in Spain. It’s probably overly hopeful-- he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a First Order domestique speak. Doesn’t even know what country this kid is from. Most of the teams now put names on riders’ jerseys and some even put a flag to indicate nationality, but the First Order, of course, doesn’t go in for that. There’s Hux, there’s Ren, and then there’s everyone else-- nameless cogs in the machine. 

There’s no response, like he expected, and Poe glances over his shoulder again to take another look. Once the kid catches his breath, Poe will give an elbow flick, and if he doesn’t take his turn doing the work at the front then that’ll give Poe his answer on if this is gonna be a decent breakaway or a cutthroat one. The kid grimaces behind his mirrored sunglasses, and at first Poe thinks it’s at him, or at the pace, but then he’s peeling at the tape holding his radio earpiece in his ear and yanking out the earbud to let it dangle onto his chest. Poe raises an eyebrow as he turns forward again. He can hear tinny indistinct screaming even over the road noise. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” The voice is thin with breathlessness. 

Poe glances back again in surprise. The kid’s got a North American accent. American, or maybe Canadian. “Hi,” Poe calls back in response. “Feelin’ thirsty?” 

“Thirsty?” the kid says in confusion, before seeming to remember the extra weight he’s carrying. “Oh jeez.” He scrambles to yank the waterbottles out of the back of his jersey and tosses them to folks clapping on the side of the road. “I’m gonna get hell for that later.” 

“I’m surprised they didn’t tell you before now,” Poe calls back. 

“They may have. When they get loud, I tune it out.” He grimaces. 

“Yikes,” Poe murmurs. The only time his radio is filled with screaming is when he wins a stage. The earpiece swinging against the kid’s chest is still emitting more noise than it should. “I’m Poe,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“Finn,” the kid responds. “And you wouldn’t have. Domestiques just get called by their number when they bother with something aside from ‘hey you’, so I mostly answer to 87.” 

“Yikes,” Poe repeats. It’s completely alien to him. The Resistance domestiques absolutely destroy themselves every day to keep him safe and deliver him as best as they can to the sprints-- in exchange, they get his prize money (the middling endorsement contracts he gets from winning said sprints is his real prize), more than a fair deal as far as Poe is concerned. He knows their names, their families, takes them out for dinner… and as far as he knows, it’s much the same on every other team, except, apparently Team First Order. He knew he had a good reason for hating those assholes. 

Finn’s had time to recover, and Poe’s been at the front for a while now, so Poe flicks his elbow, indicating it’s Finn’s time to cut the wind for them. There’s no response, which, honestly, Poe kind of expected. When he glances back at Finn again, he can’t see his eyes because of those mirrored shades, but his mouth looks pained. “Sorry,” Finn says, and gestures helplessly at his dangling earpiece. “I’ve got orders.” 

“Come on,” Poe tosses back. “You help me stretch out the lead and you’ve got a fifty/fifty shot of winning this stage. We get reeled in, your team’s got a one in twenty-two shot of winning.” 

“I’m not supposed to win a stage unless it’s the only option to keep you from winning one.” 

That whips Poe’s head back around, even though he’s pretty sure he heard Finn correctly. “What?” 

Finn shrugs as best as he can with both hands firmly on the handlebars. “Just Hux and Ren win stages.”

“That’s the dumbest…” Poe trails off. Strategically, it’s stupid. It hurts chances in the team competition, hamstrings the development of young riders, throws away opportunities for prize money. Ren may be the best GC man in a generation, but even he can’t perform at his peak every day for twenty plus days. Normally, other members of a team would fill in on an off day, but then, apparently Poe’s been underestimating the egos on Team First Order. He wished his team had the firepower to take advantage of that weakness, but they don’t. They could win a stage or two, but it was hard to compete with the near unending coffers of billionaire “respectable businessman” (said with the same sort of inflection one might say the phrase in Godfather or Goodfellas) Snoke. 

“Sorry,” Finn says again, and Poe really feels for him. What a miserable working situation. Poe wonders why he doesn’t quit. 

“It’s all right,” Poe says. “I think I get it. Explains your bike. Is it adjusted for Hux or Ren?” 

“Hux,” Finn admits. 

There are times when you get a flat or break your bike and the team car or the neutral service vehicle is in no place to help you. So you either wait, impatiently, for them to get to you while you rapidly lose time, or, if you’re a team star, you ‘borrow’ a bike from a nearby teammate and ride on while _they_ wait for the team car with your broken bike. Just in case of this eventuality, some teams actually send out a domestique on a bike tailored for one of the star riders, rather than the person actually riding it-- but normally, it’s just one rider in case of emergency, and normally it’s a rider who’s about the same height. Hux must have six inches on Finn. The fact that even Finn is riding a bike for Hux must mean ALL the domestiques are riding improperly adjusted bikes. No wonder they burn through domestiques so fast they don’t bother learning their names. 

Finn will be no help stretching out the distance from the pack, but Poe had expected to go it on his own anyway. And, yes, he’ll have competition for the prizes and Finn will be better rested spending the whole day in Poe’s slipstream, but Finn’s on a bike that doesn’t suit him, so he supposes that’s a fair contest. Despite Finn not helping out, he’s kind of personable (nothing he’d ever thought he’d attribute to a First Order rider before) and he doesn’t mind his company. 

Poe keeps a close eye on the motorbike ahead of them with the chalkboard noting the time gap and he’s pleasantly surprised that it seems to be growing. Reassured he won’t be caught it’s almost like a pleasant ride out with a friend, minus the intermittent chattering in his ear from the team car giving him updates. It’s a beautiful day, there’s a pleasant breeze, and they’re riding through the best of what the Spanish countryside has to offer. The fans are sparse out here and clapping and cheering them on, and every once in awhile they both laugh at a silly sign or crazy costume, although Poe’s had about enough of seeing those Borat swimsuits-- that’s just not a good look on anyone.

They pass through the feed zone, grabbing their lunch uneventfully, although Poe keeps his distance from the First Order soigneur, because mischief happens in feed zones and he’s not gonna give them any chance to trip him up. Jess Pava is waiting for him a little further down in the zone offering out his musette and he snatches it from her expertly, swinging it over his shoulder as Finn locks back into his slipstream. It’s cold against his back, and he makes a note to thank Jess after the race, immediately taking one of the icy water bottles out and spraying it all over his face and head. Spain in August is a scorcher. 

“Care to join me for lunch?” Poe offers playfully, digging into the musette for food and drinks. He pockets what he wants in the pouch in the back of his jersey and tosses what he doesn’t off to the side of the road.

Finn chuckles, pulling a can of Coke out of his musette and tipping it in his direction like a toast. “ _Cin cin_!” 

“ _Salude_!” Poe tosses his now-empty musette to the side of the road where it’s snatched up eagerly by a young fan, and fishes a foil-wrapped sandwich from his pocket. He can hear Finn slurping at his can of Coke behind him as he unwraps his meal and takes a quick bite. He’s had worse dates, he supposes, grinning to himself. “So, how much grief are you gonna give me on this sprint point coming up?” he asks conversationally. 

“Gotta give it my best shot, ya know?” Finn sounds at least regretful about it as he tosses his empty Coke can off to the side. 

“Anything left in the tank?” Poe throws back. 

“Guess you’ll find out,” Finn actually teases him, chuckling.

“Or you could just stay back there and keep checking out my ass. I know, I’m a specimen.” He wiggles on his seat as much as is safe. There’s a choking sound behind him, and he’s probably lucky Finn finished his Coke or he might have been on the receiving end of a spit-take. He glances ahead up the road and catches the motorcycle cameraman out of the corner of his eye. He wonders what the viewers at home made of that, and grins. 

Finn takes a moment to re-steady his breathing and then: “Well, when I blow by you, you’ll have to tell me what you think of mine.” 

It’s an impressive comeback on the fly. Poe has to laugh. “I’m in the market for a new lead-out man. If you can even stay close to me, job’s yours.” He’s barely teasing. Finn’s a lot leaner than Snap and he’s already been plenty impressive. 

Finn’s suspiciously silent behind him, and Poe glances back to take a look. Finn’s got a strange look on his face-- it’s hard to tell what the emotion is with the mirrored sunglasses obscuring half his face. 

“You okay?” Poe checks. His job is a lot easier if Finn’s sick or needs to take a nature break, but he’ll honestly miss the company. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Finn says, sounding embarrassed. “It’s just… First Order picked me for their development program when I was a kid-- I can’t really even remember a time before I was on a bike for them. I never really considered that I could ride for anyone else.” 

“How much longer is your contract for?” Poe asks. 

“Dunno.” 

Poe frowns. “You got a manager?” 

“Nah. I just get on the bike and ride. Figure everything else will take care of itself.” 

Poe almost lets out a truly multilingual string of invective-- the peloton is a great way to learn profanity in a dozen different languages-- but clamps down on the impulse. Just because Poe’s dad helped him navigate the early stages of his career didn’t mean every parent had that expertise. “You’re riding in a Grand Tour, Finn. You need a manager.” 

“Oh,” Finn says, sounding younger than he ever has before. “Do you know any?” 

Poe chuckles. “Look, just find me before you leave Spain, all right? I’ll get you some names.” He reaches for an energy bar in his pocket, saving the gel packs for the last part of the race. “If you’re on a year-to-year contract you can swap teams after the Vuelta is over. You can go somewhere they’ll call you by your name at the very least, if not do their best to put you in the white jersey.”

“I’m too inexperienced for a white jersey,” Finn said quickly. Poe suspects he’s parroting something he’s heard before. 

“It’s for the best young rider, Finn. That’s the whole point.” 

“Right.” 

They turn away from the water. The tailwind is nice to spur Poe on, but it means his slipstream has changed as well, and Finn swings over directly behind him. It makes conversation a lot more difficult. He can only see Finn’s shoulder if he glances behind himself now. He wiggles his ass again just to give Finn a show, and then keeps his eyes ahead. 

The timing is good. He can just see the sign on the side of the road that tells him it’s 5K to the intermediate sprint point, so it’s time to focus and think strategy. It’s the midpoint of the race, and it’s important to get him some points in the sprint competition and some money, but he can’t wear himself out or he won’t make it to the end of the race. If he sprints too early he’ll wear himself out and give Finn a free trip to the line. If he slows up to force Finn to get ahead of him, the peloton will gain ground on them. He could ask Leia for advice and he’s sure she’d have some, but this isn’t his first, or even his tenth grand tour. He knows what to do. 

He keeps his pace steady, keeping his speed up, but leaving enough energy in reserve so that he can put on a sprint if Finn, well, _when_ Finn challenges him. He’s been keeping one ear on his radio, listening for updates from the team car and his teammates. As he’d hoped, the wind had shredded the peloton into multiple groups separated by a few seconds each. The riders would be far more interested in pulling together again than chasing him down. He and Finn were only pulling away from the pack, and Leia was doing what she could to put their second team car up ahead of the peloton to support Poe in his breakaway, should he need additional water and food or mechanical help. 

The camera motorcycle comes up on his left again. He suspects they’re getting a nice panning shot from Finn to him as they fly up the road. The announcers he grew up listening to while watching the grand tours on TV, Phil and Paul, are still at it, and he sometimes keeps himself occupied on the road by thinking of what they might say. 

_“Poe Dameron timed his escape from the pack exactly right today, Phil. The peloton is too busy fighting the wind than to turn a pedal in anger towards him.”_

_“You are absolutely right, Paul. First Order Racing is at the front, desperately trying to drag Dameron back, but they can’t do it alone, and if things stay as they are and Dameron can stay away, Armitage Hux may not be in green tomorrow morning!”_

Poe chuckles to himself, tosses a little wave and a ‘Hi Dad!’ to the camera, even though he should be watching the road. Leia will scold him, but the sponsors love it. 

It has an unintended consequence. Finn catches him with one hand off the handlebar and with his attention to his left, and he breaks suddenly to the right. Poe returns his attention to the road ahead of him, only to see Finn suddenly appearing in his peripheral vision. 

_Shit_. Leia won’t just scold him, she’ll have him skinned alive if he got caught sleeping because he was mugging for the camera. He stands up on the pedals and races after Finn. He can see the sprint point banner just coming into view ahead of him, and that may be his saving grace-- Finn may have gone too early. There’s still enough distance for Poe to counter attack if he can get himself together. 

The camera motorcycle speeds along beside them as Poe catches Finn’s back wheel through sheer will alone and slides into his slipstream. He keeps his head down, tucking as best as he can while still pedalling madly. Finn glances back at him and tries another attack, but Poe’s prepared for it this time and he refuses to be shaken. Finn’s fast and strong and determined, but there is no one better in the world than Poe at snatching a win from behind. 

Finn’s eating up the ground, but Poe’s locked right in behind him-- 500 meters, 400 meters-- and Poe feels _alive_. _This_ is what Poe’s been missing-- Snap is just too big to go this fast, and even with Finn technically fighting him the two of them are _flying_. 100 meters and Poe grits his teeth and ducks into the wind around Finn, turning the pedals as fast as he can, legs screaming at him. He pulls even, and then, at the line, throws his bike forward like a proper indoor track velodrome race. Finn doesn’t, and Poe wonders if he ever raced in a velodrome or if he’s always been a road racer. 

Then they’re past the line, and they both coast for a bit, side by side, recovering. In his ear, Leia tells him it’s a photo finish, but he’s pretty sure he’s got the points and the prize money. Finn’s looking a bit drained, maybe a bit disappointed. 

“Good race,” Poe says, taking the opportunity to speak to him side by side for a moment before they form back into a line. Finn lifts his head at that, starts to smile a little. Poe turns his pedals again, pulling ahead because he knows Finn can’t and won’t. “ _Great_ ass,” he adds, tossing it over his shoulder as he moves away. He hears Finn’s surprised bark of laughter, and then they’re back single file. 

On to the finish. 

 

It’s like an individual time trial, really, but with some company and access to his team car. Statura’s driving the second team car that’s been assigned to his breakaway and he drops back every once in a while for a bottle or an extra snack. First Order did not send up a team car for Finn, so Finn’s only got the neutral service motorcycle to provide him with water. Poe actually offers Finn an energy bar at one point, despite Statura clucking at him, but Finn turns him down saying he’s under explicit orders to only ingest what the First Order or the neutral service vehicles provide. 

In hindsight Poe supposes it makes sense, easy enough to slip something into a competitor’s food to either impact performance or make them blow a drug test (and with the two of them off the front so long, they will both definitely be called in for a test after the stage). Still, Poe is not the kind of person who is constantly on the lookout for the worst in people, and he thinks it’s sad that anyone would have to be on guard like that. 

The time gap keeps stretching out. He’s pretty sure he’s a shoo-in for the most competitive rider for tonight. That’ll be another nice little bonus in the team coffers. They’ve got five minutes on the peloton (or what’s left of it) and then ten. Then the report comes in that there’s been a crash in the peloton that must involve some favorites because the peloton slows even further while they wait for all the stars to get back up on their bikes and catch up in the strange etiquette of the race. The race computer claims they’re away for good, that they won’t be caught, but the computer has been wrong before so Poe doesn’t count his chickens. They’ve still got at least another hour on the bike after all. 

They’ve been riding through the countryside, but they’re approaching a city. Within the city the course will be barricaded off, keeping the fans off the road, but there are a growing number of spectators well before those barricades kick in. Campers are parked just off the road, fans are waving giant flags that can swing out into the course with a change of the wind. Flares. Smoke bombs. Every once in awhile some moron in a costume will try and run alongside them, or even worse, try to give them a push. Fortunately, he and Finn are going too fast for them to have a chance of staying with them for long. Still, more and more are stepping right out into the middle of the road ahead of them to get a picture, and waiting way too long to step back out of their way. They’re closing in on either side of he and Finn, nowhere near as claustrophobic as the sides of a mountain climb, but it still requires a lot more focus. 

“Stay alert!” he shouts back to Finn, and tightens his grip on his handlebars. The camera motorcycle moves directly ahead of him and he’s happy to have it plow a path for him. Behind him, the team car and the course referee’s car are slowing because of the crowd, honking their horns in an attempt to clear the path. He’ll have to wait until the other side of town to get his next waterbottle. 

He keeps his focus on the road-- tries to ignore the cheers, the cowbells, the people ‘helpfully’ splashing water on them as they go by to cool them off. 

There’s a dog on the course. 

The camera motorcycle slams on its brakes. 

Poe dodges to the left, and finds a concrete boulevard divider that was not marked on the map. 

“POE!” 

 

 

_“Oh! There’s been a crash!”_

_“Race radio hasn’t confirmed, but it certainly looks like it’s Poe Dameron there on the tarmac and it doesn’t look good.”_

_“We’re waiting on the replay and… oh no! I don’t understand why spectators insist on bringing their dogs to an event like this. It’s not a place for pets, and if they do get free-- it’s just a disaster.”_

_“We can only hope he’ll be able to get back on a bike, but it looks like the frame on his is cracked clean through. He’ll have to wait for his team car to catch up for a new bike, but he’s certainly in no hurry to get to his feet, Phil.”_

_“The rider from First Order was able to stay on his bike, and seems unharmed, but he’s slowed right down. It’s possible he got a flat-- I can’t tell from this video, Paul.”_

“Poe!” 

Poe opens his eyes and it takes longer than it should to focus them. The pavement a few inches in front of him finally comes into sharp relief, and then, a meter past that, the frame of his bike, twisted and cracked. What happened? Where is he? He blinks, heavily. 

Oh, shit. He tries to push himself up, but his left arm isn’t cooperating. It’s numb with adrenaline at the moment, and he doesn’t particularly want to look and see what he did to himself. He manages to get himself propped up enough that he can look up the road and sees Finn come to a stop ahead of him, and then to his horror, turn his bike and start to pedal back towards him. 

“No!” Poe manages to yell, and waves his good arm at Finn. “Keep riding!” What the hell does Finn think he’s doing? Finn should go on and win the stage!

Finn stubbornly ignores him and Poe glances around looking for the race referee. If Finn’s caught riding in the wrong direction he could get disqualified. “Get off the goddamned bike at least!” 

Finally Finn seems to catch on to his meaning and dismounts, leaving his bike at the side of the road and running over to Poe. He waves encroaching spectators away from Poe. “Give him room! _Apártate!_ ” he yells, as he comes over and kneels beside Poe, pulling those mirrored sunglasses off finally, and sticking them into his helmet. 

_Oh_ , Poe thinks, probably concussed. _He has lovely eyes_. “What the fuck!?” he says aloud, instead of giving voice to such thoughts. “You should be halfway to the finish by now!” He tastes blood in his mouth and carefully runs his tongue over his teeth to check they’re all there. Good. He likes his teeth. “Get back on your bike or your team is going to kill you!” 

“After that fall, I had to see if you were all right!” Finn says, eyes wide and white with alarm. He looks Poe over and then reaches for a water bottle off of the frame of Poe’s twisted bike. “This water?” he checks. “I’m gonna try and rinse this off.” 

Poe can only nod in response to his question, because he’s flabbergasted. Everyone knows you only really stop for teammates, and then only team leaders, in order to get them back on the bike ASAP. People have _died_ on races and cyclists went right on by. That’s just pro cycling. 

He hisses a sharp breath through his teeth as Finn splashes water down his arm. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and now his left arm and hip are starting to burn with pain. He risks a glance down at his hip (he’ll work up to his arm, it feels a lot worse) and there’s a long line of road rash, bleeding freely. His shorts are shredded and bloody from his waist down. “You just came over for the free strip show,” he accuses through gritted teeth. 

“Yeah, I did,” he teases back, despite looking grim. “You went too far, though. Next time, stop before you take your skin off too.” 

“Picky, picky,” Poe gasps, pain stealing his breath, as the honking of car horns signals the arrivals at long last of the support cars. Statura is there first, leaping out and giving Finn a suspicious look before kneeling on Poe’s other side. Poe hopes the race doctor’s white convertible isn’t too far behind. 

“You want a bike or an ambulance?” Statura asks, no-nonsense as always, bless him. 

Poe had about fifteen minutes lead time when he went down. He’s maybe spent five of it sitting on the ground. Once he gets up on his bike he’s gonna be a lot slower as his injuries start to scab and pull, plus, he’s pretty sure he’s snapped his collarbone again. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to ride tomorrow, but if he can muscle through today and come in second behind Finn, he’ll have the most competitive rider prize, and maybe a green jersey if he’s lucky. Be nice to get _one_ of those before he has to leave Spain. A ten minute head start just might be enough. “Bike,” he groans. 

Statura nods sharply and signals to the car and the mechanic no doubt standing by, then tugs up on Poe’s good hand to get him to his feet. Poe only partially keeps his scream of pain behind his teeth. 

“Poe.” Finn states it like a caution and a question. Poe had forgotten he was still standing there. 

“What the hell?” Poe snaps, pain making him sharp. It’s honestly a struggle just to stay on his feet. He cradles his bad arm awkwardly to his chest to protect it, but every breath makes pain stab into the unhurt parts of his body. “Get on your bike and go! People will think you’re match fixing or something. Go win the stage!” 

Finn takes a step back. “You’re sure?” 

“Ask _your_ directeur sportif!” Poe jabs at Finn’s dangling earpiece with his good arm. Karè, one of their mechanics, wheels one of his spare bikes up to him. Finn glances down at the earpiece like he’d forgotten it was there-- amazing since Poe can still hear faint tinny shouting through it. 

Finn winces, whether at Poe snapping or the reminder of the fact that he’s been blowing off his team leadership for _hours_ , and then nods and turns away, returning to his own bike up the road as he sticks his earpiece back in his ear. 

Poe takes a moment to steady himself and then reaches out with his good hand to take the handlebars from Karè. “You sure about this?” Karè asks, giving him a look, and switching her grip to the back of the seat. 

“Just send the doctor on up as soon as I’m away, all right?” He swings his good leg over and latches onto the pedal. He takes a deep breath and then moves the bike forward, settling onto the pedals again. Karè’s got his back, like always, hands over his tailbone and sprinting like a bobsledder to give him a good push start on his way before jogging back to the team car where Statura is already back behind the wheel and probably trying to get the doctor to hurry through over the radio. 

Catching Finn’s back wheel is impossible. Even the best willpower can’t compel a broken body to move like a healthy one, and Poe gets his last glimpse of Finn, probably for the rest of the tour, maybe forever, as he crests a small rise and then disappears from view. Good, Poe thinks. Finn deserves to have a stage win. He seemed like a nice guy. 

Fuck. Everything hurts. Poe’s crashed before, crashed badly before. Almost every sprinter has, but pain is a fleeting memory, and so every time he’s hurt is the new worst time. What had previously appeared to be a glass-smooth Spanish road now seems more corrugated than the worst section of Paris-Roubaix pavè as pain shoots through his arm and shoulder. He can’t really brake or shift properly with only one arm on the handlebars, but he reminds himself he’s got a ten minute head start and presses ahead as best he can. 

The race doctor comes up after a few excruciating minutes. On one hand it’s a relief because he’ll be allowed to hold on to the side of the car and coast while she patches him up, but on the other he can’t manage to hold on to the side of the car with his bad arm, so he has to approach on the other side, sitting up and holding on with his good arm as the doctor leans out and around his body, spraying him down with numbing spray and wrapping him up in gauze. It’s precarious. It’s also good television, he supposes, as the camera motorcycle swings into his peripheral vision again. He hopes sponsor logos are visible through the blood. 

The doctor does what she can, and then he’s on his own again, forcing his body through each turn of the pedals. Leia calmly keeps him apprised of the time splits in his ear, judgement free. It’s his call whether to keep pushing or quit-- he has to live with the decision so he has to make it. 

His lead dwindles faster than he needs it to. The peloton is eight minutes back, then five. “Race computer has them catching you at 10k from the finish, Poe,” Leia says, and Poe yells, because that’s so close after 150 kilometers on a bike, but it’s so far away. He could muscle it out, try to finish just for a shot at that most competitive rider number, but he suspects they’ll give it to Finn at this point anyway. 

He swallows, sits up, and then clicks the radio on. “I’m done,” Poe says, and lets Statura catch up to him with the car. 

_“Oh, that’s a shame. It appears Poe Dameron from Team Resistance is retiring from the race.”_

_“He has absolutely battled, Paul, but he was hurt badly on that terrible accident with the motorbike, and he’s unable to use his left hand. It is amazing he made it this far.”_

_“There you can see him being helped into the team car. His race is over.”_

 

If he’d been further from the finish, the car would have taken him directly to the hotel. But they’re practically at the finish anyway, so he waves off the offer and gets taken to the team bus instead (after a stop by the local hospital for an x-ray to confirm his broken collarbone), where he spends the presentation ceremony getting gravel and road dirt painfully and thoroughly cleaned out of his wounds by a Spanish medic. On the other hand he also gets some pretty powerful painkillers which should last him until he can get to the hotel, where he hopes he can get more so he can sleep (and then maybe some more for his flight home tomorrow). 

Most of the team comes by to see how he is before they start their cool-down procedures. Snap lingers longer than he should, looking miserable. Snap’s his protector on the road, and he takes his duty to deliver Poe to the finish line safely very seriously, and even pointing out that Poe chose to go out on his own and that Snap could never have made the breakaway with him doesn’t seem to cheer him up any. When Poe hears the knock at the bus door, therefore, he assumes it’s Snap back to confirm he hasn’t died in the fifteen minutes he’s been away. 

It’s not Snap who comes through the door, though. It’s Finn. He’s biting at his lip, a little unsure as he steps inside. “I think you’re supposed to bring flowers when you visit someone who’s hurt,” he says, and offers out a massive armful of flowers which Poe quickly recognises as the winner’s bouquets for both the stage win and the most combative rider award. Finn sets them carefully beside Poe. 

“Congratulations,” Poe says, and means it. He hopes that comes through to Finn. Between the pain and the painkillers not everything is very clear at the moment. “Your team must be really excited for you.” 

Finn chuckles humorlessly. “They’re fucking pissed. I was supposed to wait and let Ren or Hux catch up and take the win. I’m pretty much fired as soon as the Vuelta’s done.” 

“Why’d you take the win, then?” Poe asks, flabbergasted. He still thinks it’s an incredibly stupid strategy to hamstring a domestique in a breakaway like that, but above all a domestique is _obedient_ and refusing an order from a directeur sportif or a team leader just isn’t done. 

“I talked to someone today that made me realize my team kinda sucks,” Finn says, looking mostly at the ugly carpet in front of him. “Figured a stage win might look good on my resume if I’m trying to convince another team to take me on.” He looks up at Poe with more hope in his eyes than Poe thinks he’s ever seen in a pro-rider. They’re sort of a cynical bunch. “Were you serious about needing a lead-out man?” 

Poe scraped up the left side of his face (along with the left side of everything else) when he fell, and between the scabbing and the swelling, it really hurts to smile, but he does anyway. “Absolutely serious,” Poe says. “You want me to put in a good word with the boss?” 

“That would be nice,” Finn says, smiling faintly. “I… uh... “ he bites his lip. “I know you guys take a anti-doping pledge, and I can commit to that in the future. I want to.” 

There’s something about the way that’s phrased that seems suspicious even to Poe’s drug addled mind. “In the future?” he asks carefully. 

“I’m not knowingly doping, but sometimes I suspect…” He shrugs. “I eat and drink what they put in front of me. I can’t prove anything, and they haven’t been caught-- I’ll just be glad to ride for a team like yours. Is that still all right?” 

Poe nods. Everyone has suspicions about First Order, but then common wisdom holds that all things being equal a cyclist is more often doping than not. “As long as you’re clean with us, that’s all that matters. You sure you wanna ride for us? There’s no money, our resources suck--” 

“Seems like there’s not a lot of screaming and I’ll get to ride a bike that’s sized for me. I’m not seeing the downside… other than the fact that I’ll be riding in front of you from here on in and won’t get to properly appreciate your… _assets_ anymore.” 

Poe laughs, startled, and then clutches at his arm, pain sharp enough to overcome the painkillers. “Ow. Jesus,” he moans. “Careful where you point that wit.” He can’t help but look a little pathetic. “My assets are all broken at the moment anyway. You’ll have to have all the assets for the both of us.” 

“Good thing you’ve got all off-season to heal up then,” Finn says reasonably, “because they’re kind of a selling point.” 

“Duly noted,” Poe says, grinning again even though it hurts. 

“Get well soon,” Finn says with a smile. “And get a vase for those,” he gestures at the flowers. “I put a lot of effort into winning them for you!” He turns to leave, heading for the door and the hell that must be waiting for him back on his own team bus, but at the threshold he suddenly pauses and looks thoughtful. “On First Order the sprinter and leadout are always roommates. Is that true here too?” 

“Yeah,” Poe says automatically. 

“Huh,” says Finn, and gives a wicked smile and a wink to Poe before stepping off the team bus and closing the door behind him. 

Poe shifts in his seat and swallows before he allows himself a slow smile. This offseason he’s gonna get in the best shape of his _life._

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:  
> GC man: 'General Classification'. GC riders are the riders who hope to win the main event by finishing the entire tour with the fastest combined time. Lance Armstrong was a GC rider, for instance.
> 
> Tour: A race that takes place over multiple days or 'stages'. The Tour de France, for instance, usually contains 21 stages of 100-200 km each and two 'rest days' with no competition on that day.
> 
> Sprint contests: A separate competition in tour races where cyclists are assigned points for the order they crossed the finish line as well as at 'sprint points' midway through stages. It is designed to reward the fastest riders who are excellent on flat roads but struggle in the mountains so would never have a shot in the GC.
> 
> Green Jersey: The leader in each contest are denoted by colored jerseys. In the Vuelta a Espana (and the Tour de France) the sprinter is in a green jersey.
> 
> Lead-out man: A rider (usually a sprinter in his own right) who specialises in providing a wheel for a sprinter to follow in the final stages of a race. Nestled in the lead-out man's slipstream, the sprinter waits for the final possible moment, then accelerates for the line as the lead-out man pulls to one side.
> 
> Vuelta: Vuelta a Espana, the Tour of Spain. The last of the three Grand Tours in the cycling calendar along with the Giro d'Italia and the Tour de France.
> 
> Lead-out train: The majority of a team riding single file at the end of a race, the sprinter at the back, riding as fast as they can. One by one the lead rider will exhaust themselves in the wind peel off and fall to the back. If timed correctly, the sprinter will be delivered to the finish line at top speed without having to fight the wind resistance on the way there. Sprinters without a strong team will sometimes hitch on to someone else's train and poach wins, peeling off to beat the other sprinter at the last minute. 
> 
> Domestiques: The worker bees of a team, responsible for looking after the team leader and the other stars. Domestiques ferry food and water to their team leaders, provide a wheel for the leader to follow and in extreme cases even surrender their bikes if the leader has a mechanical problem.
> 
> Peloton: The group containing the majority of riders, who cluster together to cut down on wind resistance (protected riders in the middle can do up to 40% less work because of it!).
> 
> Red Jersey: In the Vuelta, the red jersey is for the GC riders (the equivalent of the yellow jersey in the Tour de France). Aside from the green jersey for sprinters, there is also a polka dotted jersey for mountain climbing, and a white jersey for the best GC rider under the age of 25.
> 
> soigneur: A member of team staff who looks after the riders, performing duties such as giving massages, handing up food and water bottles, seeing that riders get to their hotels and so on.
> 
> musette: The little cloth shoulder bag handed up to riders at feeding stations, containing food and water bottles.
> 
> Paris-Roubaix pavè: Paris-Roubaix is a 'one-day classic' race famous for it's pavè, or cobblestone, sections. It can be a total bloodbath. 
> 
> Headcanons:  
> In the unwritten sequel, of course, Luke will finally be lured out of hiding. Upon his return he will see that Finn has the makings of a perfect GC rider, and Poe will lose his lead out man again, but he'll be happy to because Finn's going to be a star in his own right. In the Tour de France Poe goes head to head against Hux for the green jersey of the sprint competition and Finn challenges Kylo Ren for the yellow jersey of the winner. Kylo is finally revealed as Leia's son, who jumped teams to take advantage of more resources (and technically advanced doping opportunities) at First Order. 
> 
> Poe's mother Shara was a great cyclist (although female cyclists get much less attention than male ones) and Kes was able to help guide Poe's developing career because of his experience with his wife.


End file.
